


Promise

by teztrash (teztime)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:09:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teztime/pseuds/teztrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young and naive and drunk on the promise of a future not yet ruined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roz/gifts).



> [@rozzingit](http://rozzingit.tumblr.com/): i don't want to write tf secret santa but i want someone to write me op/megs gifts  
> [@teztime](http://teztime.tumblr.com/): okay
> 
> _Optimus -- no. Orion Pax/Megatron. Young and naive and drunk on the promise of a future not yet ruined._
> 
> Thanks to my beta, saosmash. <3<3

Orion Pax thought it was strange that he'd awoken from recharge entirely content, yet now his spark blazed a nova of rebellion.

All of it -- every twist and lurch of his spark, every leap and turn of his processor -- could be laid at the feet of a single individual. Just one. A prisoner who had been jailed in his own precinct: a miner.

Megatron's words burned through Orion's lines. He couldn't extinguish his memory of the writing on the datapad. It itched, prickling and crawling through his circuits.

He tried to banish memory to focus on his work, only for the truth of the Senate's corruption to crawl off the datapad and stand in his office above the bodies of the dead. After the deaths of Springarm and Wheelarch, Orion Pax had to do something.

He was no writer, and certainly no speaker. There was no power in his words, only in his fists.

Orion swept down the streets outside of the station with the thug who had beaten Megatron cuffed in his trailer. He passed tap houses crowded with Cybertronians gathered to watch the news. The rising death toll from the attack on Nominus worsened a tension that had grown so slowly, so subtly that Orion hadn't noticed. It had taken a prisoner's words to clear the static from his gaze, and he found himself suddenly horrified by what he saw.

Orion remembered telling Megatron that he didn't agree with everything that he had written, and he winced deep within the rumbling form of his alt-mode. Megatron had to think him a fool: naive at best, or worse, another cog in a corrupt machine.

If Orion had listened, might he have avoided those two deaths? If Orion listened now, might he avoid more?

He hardly knew what he was doing until suddenly he was there, at the Senate, and breaking through security: his body possessed a strength that no longer seemed his own, and he tore down the defenses that stood between him and his goal with all the relentless force of an oncoming storm.

They tried to stop him. They failed.

Orion Pax stood in the Grand Imperium beneath the collected members of the 113th Cybertronian Senate. He stood battered and bloodied, but unbowed and unbroken.

Orion threw the Senate's enforcer, Whirl, to the ground and lifted his head to address the Senate. Some small part of him was aghast at his presumption, but that part of him grew smaller with every wild beat of his spark. Megatron's words filled the empty places left by his dwindling fear.

Later, on the street again, he would remember little of what he said. Three questions lingered, memory burned in his mind:

_In whose interests did the Senate exercise its power?_

_To whom were they accountable?_

_How could the people be rid of the Senate?_

They were Megatron's questions, Megatron's writing, and Orion joined his voice to Megatron's words so that they could finally be _heard_.

The only answer he received was arrest. Orion left the Senate building in cuffs. His faceplate had been cracked. The cuts of the squadron's blades and blasts of their weapons had carved deep into armor designed to take no worse than a junkie's punch. His wiring lay bare where the armor was torn away, but the crack of his faceplate revealed a smile. Despite the arrest, despite the promise of jail, despite the threat of worse -- despite it all, he felt hope.

Warmth blossomed in his chest, where Megatron had set spark to tinder. He felt drunk with the power of Megatron's writing. It chased away the numbing cold of energon loss.

Orion tipped his head up to meet the cold-lensed stare of the cameras as he was taken into custody.

He wondered if Megatron was watching.

* * *

In the mines beneath Nova Point, news -- real news -- was slow to arrive, and often depended on miners coming and going from the surface. It was hard to get a good data connection down here. The signal was weak.

Interference, management said; censorship, Megatron knew. The administration offices had no difficulty connecting with surface systems to track mining quotas.

Most miners didn't care if their entertainment was a little out of date as long as they had it. Management was very generous on that count: every room had a screen where they could access a selection of recorded vids, covering every pleasure from the violent to the visceral. What news disks they received were out of date and state- or company-sponsored.

Megatron still _watched_ them. He just didn't trust them.

Impactor, finally released from holding after his clash with the cadets, announced his return with the thump of his fist to Megatron's shoulder and a, "You are in so much trouble!" He sounded delighted. He sounded envious. He sounded, perhaps, a little concerned.

"The charges against _me_ were dropped." Megatron reflexively hunched his shoulders and glanced around for a supervisor. The dig of his pick continued with unfaltering steadiness, and Impactor spun his drill and took a place next to him.

"What charges-- oh!" Impactor laughed. "No one's cares! You hear about what happened in the Senate?"

Megatron drew back and gave Impactor a flat look. "You've never cared what the Senate does. If you mean the Clampdown, I've already started writing a--"

"Clampdown? No one cares about that, either!" Impactor broke in and gestured wildly. "You're behind! It's what happened after that's got everyone buzzing up there!"

"After?" The Clampdown was the name put to the proposal put forth by Proteus and seconded by Ratbat. It limited freedom of movement, but had received very favorable coverage in light of security concerns following the attack on Nominus. Senate proposals always received favorable coverage. Funny, that. The footage from the Senate floor had seemed a little choppy, but--.

Resigned to the curiosity that Impactor provoked, Megatron asked, "What happened?"

"The arresting officer on your case broke down the Senate doors--"

Megatron froze.

"--slaughtered two units of guards--"

That ... seemed unlikely, considering how he'd spoken in favor of non-violence.

"--and charged onto the Senate floor to take them hostage and demand they be made accountable!"

A sick feeling twisted in Megatron's tanks. "They killed him?"

"Nah," Impactor said. "He was released."

Megatron fumbled his next swing and dropped the pick to the ground. He growled at Impactor. "They would never have released him if that was true. What really happened?"

Impactor shrugged with a broad carelessness. "No one really knows, but the Senate wasn't happy about it. They'd been covering it live up there apparently and had to cut the cameras pretty fast. Some of the cameras talked."

Even given that Impactor was obviously wildly exaggerating, the truth suggested behind the rumor left Megatron reeling as he asked, "He was released?"

"Yeah. Apparently some Senator got him out--"

But Megatron wasn't listening. He couldn't imagine what had possessed Pax. To go from disagreeing with him to storming the Grand Imperium....

Megatron's spark roiled in his chest. It lurched, and he looked down expecting to see the ground shifting beneath his feet. It was still, and quiet, and dark -- so why did he feel like the ground was tumbling toward a landslide?

* * *

"If you want information on a miner, you really want to talk to Decimus or Ratbat," Shockwave said. He sat next to Orion on a bench in the shadow of the Ark-1 Memorial Statue. He was painted in hues of purple and gold.

It was striking. Orion hoped that Shockwave wore these colors a little longer, but he knew it was unlikely. The only constant where Shockwave was concerned was his mutability -- and his loyalty to Orion.

"You know that's impossible," Orion said. He sighed and rubbed at the vents alongside his mask.

Shockwave laughed. "I know. I'm sorry." He leaned back and settled his arm around Orion's shoulders. "Even if I _could_ get you in touch with them, they are insufferable. I wouldn't _want_ to. Talking to them might turn you off Senators altogether, and then where would we be?"

"A good deal smarter," Roller said from the other side of Orion.

"Shh." Shockwave flicked Roller's shoulder with a playfulness that Orion still found startling. "Even if you don't like _me_ , you like Orion, don't you? Think of him as a good influence on me."

Roller grunted and folded his arms over his chest, leaving Orion to turn to Shockwave again.

"Is there anything you can tell me? I worry," Orion admitted.

The smile slipped from Shockwave's face. "You should worry. That miner of yours has been attracting a lot of attention, especially after you spoke his name on the Senate floor."

Orion's hands tightened to form fists. He hated to think that he'd put Megatron in danger. "There has to be something."

Shockwave sighed, sitting forward. "I'll do what I can." His fingers slipped along Orion's arm, and Orion leaned into the touch, drawing reassurance from it.

Shockwave smiled, quick and rueful. "I tried to buy out his contract -- his whole squad, actually, so it didn't look as suspicious. Sentinel caught on to it fairly quickly, put a stop to it. Something something attempted treason." He waved a hand. "I wasn't really listening. I was too busy yelling at him for interfering in private business."

Roller groaned, and for once, Orion agreed: "I worry about you, too," he said.

Shockwave's smile gentled, and he rested his hand on Orion's arm. "I'll be fine. I'll keep an eye on this miner of yours. I've got a few friends who are interested in his writing, after all."

Bowing his head, Orion said, "Thank you."

* * *

Some months later, the shift supervisor gave Megatron a long look as he put in his request for surface time. "Just don't cause any trouble," he finally said, stamping approval while clearly grudging it.

Impactor was still making up for his arrest, leaving Megatron to find his way to the surface without him. He stepped out into the light convinced that the datapad in his compartment would combust at any moment.

The last chain of pacifist restraint had broken in that cell, snapped by the Senate enforcer's claws. His writing since then was ... different. He carried his words as though they were explosives, because he knew -- _he knew_ \-- that they were. No, they had the potential to be something more: explosives reshaped a mine shaft; he would reshape Cybertron.

But first -- distribution. He only had so much time. He needed to find his contacts, make copies, arrange pick up--.

"Megatron?"

Turning, Megatron found himself facing Orion Pax standing tall and red and blue and ridiculously bright in the light of day. Megatron's first flash of surprise became wary scrutiny as he looked around for other cops. He was suddenly, painfully aware of Impactor's absence. He longed for that strength at his side.

But Pax stood alone.

Cautiously, the tension only slowly releasing from his cables, Megatron asked, "What?"

Pax looked a joke: hopeful and shy all at once, leaving Megatron off-balance and confused. He'd expected an attack, an arrest. He wasn't sure what this was. "I wanted to talk," Pax said. "A -- friend of mine told me when you were approved for leave, so I waited for the transport."

Megatron's processor churned. "Just what kind of friends do you have? I only asked this morning."

Orion Pax hesitated, and that was enough for Megatron to turn away with a curt, "No. This is a bad idea."

"Wait!" Pax lunged forward, grabbing Megatron by the shoulder.

Deep in the mines, Impactor had drilled with Megatron for months following the altercation in Maccaddam's. "Next time, you might not be able to hide under a table while I take care of your problems for you," Impactor had said -- which was ridiculous, given that he'd started the fight -- and then thrown a punch that Megatron had scarcely been able to block.

Megatron found himself rather taking to combat, and when Orion Pax grabbed his shoulder, he turned and struck at him without thinking.

But Pax was no miner. For all the breadth of his frame, he was more agile than Impactor or Megatron. He evaded the blow entirely, stepping back with his hands up in a gesture of apology.

"I shouldn't have done that," Pax said. Honest contrition lit the blue of his eyes as he looked back at Megatron. He looked _painfully_ earnest. How anyone could believe him capable of killing so much as two turbofoxes, much less two units of the Senate's elite guard, was beyond Megatron.

"You shouldn't have," Megatron agreed. His engine growled in irritation.

"I'm sorry. The friend of mine is a Senator--"

Megatron's eyes narrowed.

Pax hastily added, "--but he's not like the others! You might even like him."

"I doubt that." The thought that he had a Senator's attention left Megatron feeling very vulnerable and suddenly exposed. He could feel the press of the datapad against the side of his compartment, and his spark raced.

Pax turned his hands up in entreaty. "Let me buy you a drink."

Megatron startled. "What?"

Pax stepped closer, and pitched his voice softer, quieter. He had a warm voice, deep and soothing, and Megatron found himself thinking he liked it much better in this close intimacy than the clarion command of duty. "As apology," Pax said. "For a lot of things -- but to start, for not listening to you when I first read your writing."

Pax held his hand out to Megatron, who studied it for a long moment before meeting his hand in the clasp of equals. "One drink," Megatron agreed.

* * *

One drink became two became three, and after that they stopped keeping track. The bartender kept their glasses full, and that was all that mattered.

The apology became a conversation. Orion listened to Megatron with rapt fascination. Unlike Impactor, who tolerated Megatron's writings at best, he asked pointed questions that forced Megatron onto the defense. He talked through Orion's objections, and even brought out his datapad to edit and strengthen his position.

It was one night, just one night, but they filled every hour and every minute never knowing the next day would begin a countdown to Megatron's exile to Messatine. His latest writings were his best yet, and the speed with which they were distributed only ensured they ended up in the hands of the Senate's spies all the sooner.

It was one night, but it was a night spent with their thoughts bound so tightly that Megatron predicted Orion's questions before he asked them, and Orion spoke Megatron's answers before he had formed them. Their sparks pulsed in a single beat.

They parted on a promise, and on soft words.

It was a promise that would be broken, and their next words would be a challenge.

**Author's Note:**

> Find my fic on tumblr @ <http://teztrash.tumblr.com/> or talk to me @ <http://teztime.tumblr.com/> !


End file.
